Flying Saucers A plate smashes against the kitchen wall Across from me His hair combed over Behind me the door to the garden As I look on I hardly taste the food Today it is my sister She threw her plate Through the house anger raged As he returned to his bottle And when my own time came to leave
In the middle of another Sunday lunch war
For a moment I feel as if I'm not really there
As I stop and stare at this world I live in
But do not comprehend
John
Been drinking again
Since he woke
Fueling his senseless hatred
Driving his rage
He's shouting at my mother
Telling her she's an ugly useless bitch
His mouth moves slowly
As I watch every cruel word come alive
Perfectly formed
To exhort in so few words
The maximum hurt
Attempting to hide his baldness
Dry and graying
Betraying his denial of age
His fat belly hanging through his cardigan
As I rush to eat before the arguments start
The stains on his fingers tell of at least 30 a day
Together with the evidence collected
On the kitchens ceilings, cupboards and walls
Behind him escape to the hall
I know how long it takes to reach them both
I know how long it takes for him to get up
Expert in the pitch in his voice
Where he starts using his fist
Professor in when to fight and when to play dead
I rush before the time
When more plates begin to fly
I did not know but today she would leave
Finally had enough she threw her plate
And stood screaming at him
Of all the horrible things he is
Peas and gravy
Run from his hairy chest to fat belly
You'd almost want to laugh
If you knew the joke would last
But he did not see the comedy
For a moment the whole kitchen seemed to be in the air
My plate and food had become another tool
This raging Sunday afternoon
Battles scarring every room
Today I was but a witness
As his focus turned to my sister
And what she had dared to do
With words only falling silent
When replaced with the thud
As he punched my sister in the stomach
And a child years a way
Joined his list of casualties
To lose what he had just done
We took my sister away
But in those senseless times
My mother and I returned
When his fist met my face
His dog bit at my legs
I guess I always knew
I would never forget
Flying saucers and plates
And my sisters wonderful aim
Christopher Wellbelove
27 September 2007
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